


When I'm Laid to My Rest

by victoriousscarf



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Ending so I don't break my own heart again, Foreshadowing thou art a heartless bitch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If not for the fact when he looked up he kept seeing gold flashing by him, attached to one of the whirlwinds that were Thorin’s nephews. The line of Durin wasn’t known for being fair and Bofur tried to figure out where the golden coloring came from (his father most like). He hadn’t been expecting it as golden hair was rarer among dwarves than it was among some men, and the boy had a smirk and sense of humor to go with it.</p><p>Throughout the night he found himself looking up, staring at gold. The worse times were when he raised his eyes only to find Fili already looking back at him, sideways and considering, and he knew he’d been caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm Laid to My Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Being a graduate student has been really kicking my ass the last couple weeks. 
> 
> I swear I'm not shipping Fili with everyone just to see how many hearts I can break I swear. I feel like I should just create a tag for "foreshadowing thou art a heartless bitch."

Dwarves were well known for their gold lust.

And being a miner, it wasn’t like Bofur hadn’t seen plenty of gold and gems and all the metals under the earth but there was always something about _gold_ that they could never get past.

Their eyes were drawn to it, and Bofur was as helpless to resist as anyone.

This quest certainly hadn’t been his idea, Bombur waxing poetic one night about a regal home for his family and the riches they had left behind in Erebor. Bofur had poured him another drink and decided he was happy enough where he was.

Except that Bifur went too, and he couldn’t very well let his family pack off to glory and adventure without him. And someone had promised him free beer.

Which he got in abundance at the poor hobbit’s house, the little thing not expecting them in the least. It was too easy to poke fun at his brother, who took it in his usual good nature having raised twelve dwarflings and having grew up with Bofur to begin with, but even easier to poke fun at the hobbit who looked shocked and grumpy in turns.

It seemed like a grand start to a quest.

If not for the fact when he looked up he kept seeing gold flashing by him, attached to one of the whirlwinds that were Thorin’s nephews. The line of Durin wasn’t known for being fair and Bofur tried to figure out where the golden coloring came from (his father most like). He hadn’t been expecting it as golden hair was rarer among dwarves than it was among some men, and the boy had a smirk and sense of humor to go with it.

Throughout the night he found himself looking up, staring at gold. The worse times were when he raised his eyes only to find Fili already looking back at him, sideways and considering, and he knew he’d been caught.

That night, the quest seemed grand and anything was possible.

Reality set in soon enough, as they traveled through rain and trolls and warg scouts. Dwarves put much stock in adventures and even the youngest and slimmest of the group were hardy, though the hobbit put a different perspective on the matter. Bofur rather liked Bilbo, though it was still more fun than not to tease him as they traveled. Yet he found himself protective of the other too, making sure he was at the center of the group and as far from danger as Bofur could possibly make him.

But nothing compared to the way he would still find his eyes being drawn to gold, lust and need curling in his stomach. In the rain, with only a few braids falling out from beneath his hood, or at night, highlighted by the glow of the fire, Bofur kept looking and only dropping his eyes when Fili would slowly glance over.

Every once and a while, Bofur couldn’t stand the quiet so much he pulled out his flute, playing to please himself, Thorin occasionally joining in to sing the song Bofur was playing, Bilbo watching in fascination. Many of the dwarves had left their instruments as the wild was no place for them.

Sitting on the edge of Mirkwood, Bofur’s fingers twitched until he pulled the flute out, playing out the notes of longing he felt to feel strands of gold between his fingers. He startled as Fili sank down next to him, sprawled out on the ground and tilting his head back to watch Bofur.

“I miss being able to play music,” Fili said when Bofur’s fingers stumbled over the notes.

“And what did you play?” Bofur asked, pulling the flute from his mouth and looking down, all that golden hair and arrogance and happy smiles spread out next to him.

“The fiddle,” Fili replied and the image of his fingers stroking the strings of such an instrument was almost more than Bofur could bear.

He tapped his own hand against his knee instead of reaching out. “I’m sure you’re very good.”

“The best,” Fili drawled, lazy smirk curling across his face and Bofur found himself staring again. “I see you watching me, you know,” Fili said after a moment and Bofur laughed.

“It’s fairly obvious at the moment, don’t you think?”

Humming, Fili nodded. “But other times,” he said. “You watch a lot. What exactly are you looking for?”

Bofur tilted his head to look at him, laying on the ground with his hands crossed over his stomach, gold spilling around his head and swallowed hard. “I’m looking at you,” he said and Fili’s smirk turned almost predatory.

Before Bofur could move, Thorin called the company together, discussing their plans for getting through the forest and Fili’s hand traced along Bofur’s stomach as he moved to stand by his uncle.

Bofur’s dreams were entirely taken up with fire and smoke and the desire to hold gold in his own hands. He couldn’t tell if they were all nightmares anymore as he watched Fili, walking behind him through the dusk beneath the trees.

They slept under the trees, hungry and lost and one night Bofur turned over to find Fili pressed against his side. “Do you want me?” Fili breathed into his ear, quiet enough so that the others wouldn’t hear and Bofur bit back a groan.

“How long did that take you to figure out?” he asked and Fili laughed, breath still ghosting over Bofur’s ear.

“Not long,” he admitted, hands on Bofur’s waist and it took all of Bofur’s willpower not to tangle his hands up in Fili’s hair.

“It took you a long time to ask then,” he said, tilting his head and speaking quietly and he felt Fili’s rumbling laugh.

“There’s been plenty of other things on my mind,” Fili said and they lay there for a long time, Bofur focusing on the feeling of Fili’s breathing and wishing he could still see him.

He caught a glimpse of Fili’s hair in the light of the elven party before the lights were extinguished and they found themselves in separate cells, courtesy of Thranduil’s anger at finding dwarves in his forests.

Bofur tried to take that time calmly, without clawing at the walls or cursing the very bars that held him. As the time passed, he contented himself with hurried conversations with Bilbo, and thought about gold that could run through his fingers and realized that while once he’d dream about gold and gems, now all he cared for was the gold. Threads of gold that would bend under his hands and it make the darkness seem not so encompassing.

Honestly, he didn’t like that thought, gold caught up now with not a cold metal but a warm smile and easy laughter and bristling weapons. Except he still felt the desire to hoard, to covet and to protect and nothing about Fili was his to do that with.

He came to that revelation in a small cell alone, with no one else to tell.  

Except one escape and feast later he hadn’t looked away from Fili again, drinking in pace with his brother and singing and generally eating as much as he could after the horrible ride down the river. Halfway through the first night in Laketown, which they were still being honored, Bofur slid up to Fili and held out an apple.

“For you,” he said, and couldn’t tell if he wanted to flinch or smirk at the look Fili gave him, considering his comments on being freed from the barrel about never wanting to see an apple again.

“How kind,” Fili drawled, Kili laughing somewhere behind him and Thorin in conference with Balin, Dwalin and Nori in a drinking contest that was more of an angry battle of wills than anything.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” Bofur said and stopped breathing when Fili shrugged and took a bit of the fruit without taking it out of Bofur’s hand. “I want you,” he said, Fili’s eyes coming up to meet his, one hand on his wrist.

“I had noticed,” Fili said quietly, pupils dilating and Bofur really hoped they’d at least managed to be slightly subtle, stumbling and fumbling their way out of the room. He slammed Fili against a wall, the would-be prince laughing, head back and Bofur kissed him, licking inside his laughing mouth.

He got to tangle his hands up in the gold he’d been coveting for months, pressing his face against it as Fili panted in his ear.

The next morning they either managed to be more subtle than Bofur’d hoped for, or everyone else had gotten very drunk, though Bilbo gave him an odd, almost reassuring smile and Kili eyed his brother. But there was strength to rebuild, a dragon in front of them and Durin’s Day fast approaching so not many had time to watch where Fili chose to sit between Bofur and Kili, or comment on the way Bofur leaned over Fili’s shoulder as they talked. Though, Ori wrote a few notes in his journal about the behavior, sketching out the body language one night.

They set out from Laketown, full of hopes and dreams and found a dragon still alive and though it soon lay dead it wasn’t like they’d really _done_ anything to achieve that end other than startle the bastard off his bed of gold and make him angry enough to fly out for the mortal men that once gave them hospitality.

But, Bofur thought, what a bed of gold it was they shook Smaug off of. Once the dragon was gone the dwarves found themselves meandering through the piles, gasping over a particular find. Gloin lifted up a gold and sapphire necklace, declaring it perfect for his fair wife and Bifur had sat down and started sorting through piles happily enough.

Though Thorin was searching specifically for something, frantic need in every motion, all the dwarves fell to admiring the treasure. Except, oddly enough, for Fili and Kili, who had looked over the treasures and seemed more excited to find two harps, thrumming them happily as they sat on a pile of gold, and they bowed their heads together to talk as they played. The other dwarves murmured something and continued their searches and admiration to the sound of music but Bofur stopped dead, watching the brothers.

Some tales of dwarves spoke about loving one and only one. The elves claimed to only love once in their immortal lives, but there were tales of remarriage, of making new lives with people. It was never the same with dwarves, made by Mahal and left under the earth to awaken long after their creation. It didn’t matter who they loved, or why, it was their love and they would have no other.

Bofur began to suspect he was actually an idiot as he watched Fili, the realization having snuck up behind him to blind sight him. He hadn’t been looking for his one, he hadn’t been looking for more than possible treasure and free beer.

Stumbling sideways, he stopped searching through the treasure, sitting near Fili and Kili and watching them instead of anything else. As he stared, Fili’s eyes slide over, catching his watching and Fili’s sly smile felt like a punch, leaving him breathless.

When the other dwarves settled down, sleeping on their piles, Gloin hugging that same necklace to his chest like he wished he was holding his wife, Bofur dragging Fili from where his brother was curled up next to Ori. Thorin watched them with heavy eyes, smoking his pipe and said nothing.

Once away from the others Bofur tripped Fili down, his laughs muffled this time, spreading Fili out over the gold he’d not seemed interested in before. Smoothing Fili’s hair back, Bofur considered, the shades of gold over each other in the dim torchlight from where the dwarves were sleeping.

“What are you looking at so avidly?” Fili asked, shifting on the hard edges of the treasure beneath him.

“You,” Bofur said and tried to amend it. “Treasure.”

“So am I the treasure or is the gold?” Fili teased, one knee coming up to press against Bofur’s side.

“You are,” he said without stopping it and Fili’s eyes widened before he dragged Bofur down by his braids. “You’re the only gold,” Bofur said, wishing his mouth would stop even as it nudged against Fili’s ear. “The only one—“ and he knew he said too much.

But Fili didn’t scoff, tell him no prince would tie his life to a miner, he just turned his head and smashed their mouths together.

And until the day he died, Bofur would never forget the sight of Fili staring up at him from a pile of gold, his hair spread out over treasures that were priceless and without count. 


End file.
